"diploma" poems
Walang eksaktong kahulugan ang buhay, ang buhay ay buhay ganun lang kasimple yun, walang itong drama at lalong hindi kumplikado. Masdan ang galaw ng kalikasan. Sumisikat ang araw sa umaga at lumulubog ito pag hapon na. Ang buwan ganun din sumisinag ito sa pagsapit ng gabi at nagkukubli pagdating ng bukang-liwayway. Ganito rin ang mga bituin, lahat sila kumikilos nang ayon sa kanilang galaw at katalagahan. Kumbaga sa musika rock sila pero simple lang. Kalmante lang ang dagat pero minsan maligalig din s’ya kung kinakailangan. At ang hangin walang humpay sa kanyang pag-ihip.
Walang kahulugan ang buhay sapagkat tayo ang gumagawa ng kahulugan ng sarili nating buhay; tayo ang lumilikha ng sarili nating kasaysayan. Tayo ang pumipili ng sarili nating kahulugan. Doktor ka ba? Manggamot ka nang buong husay, sagipin mo ang maraming buhay. Sundalo ka ba? Makipaglaban ka nang buong giting, ialay mo ang buhay mo para sa bayan. Nagsusulat ka ba? Magsulat ka nang buong puso nang magliwanag ang isipan na malabo. Kung ano man ang napili **** gawin, gawin mo ito nang buong galing. Kung umiibig ka naman, umibig ka nang buong tapat at iaalay mo sa iyong sinta ang lahat. Maging mabuti ka sa kanya, mahalin mo s’ya nang higit sa lahat.
Walang kahulugan ang buhay, ‘wag mo itong hanapin sa relihiyon dahil wala ito roon. Panay kaulolan lang ang matutuhan mo sa mga nagbabanal-banalan at nag-aaring ganap, na kung umasta at magsalita akala mo ay kahuntahan nila ang Diyos. Wala rin ito sa pamahalaan at mga lingkod bayan kuno, lalong wala ito sa dami ng yaman.
Walang kahulugan ang buhay tulad sa isang tapayan na walang laman kailangan mo itong sidlan. Hindi bukas kundi ngayon ang panahon ng pagsalok ng kaalaman at karanasan kaya ‘wag mo itong sayangin. Walang kahulugan ang buhay ‘pagkat ang buhay ay isang kawalan na kailangan **** punuan. Tulad ito sa blankong papel na kailangan **** sulatan. Isang hiwaga na kailangan ikaw ang tumuklas. Walang kahulugan ang buhay basahin mo man ang lahat ng aklat at kahit pakinggan mo pa ang lahat ng talumpati sa mundo hindi mo ito makikita.
Walang kahulugan ang buhay ‘wag **** pagurin ang sarili mo sa paghahanap nito. Ang kahulugan ng buhay ay nand’yan sa loob ng puso mo. Kung saan ka maligaya naroon din ito. Aanhin mo ang maraming diploma at pagkilala kung hindi ka naman masaya? Ano’ng saysay ng mga palakpak kung huhupa rin pala ang mga ito? Hindi mo makikita ang kahulugan ng buhay sapagkat kailangan na ikaw mismo ang gumawa nito.
Nov 28, 2017
Nov 28, 2017 at 12:58 AM UTC
I Don't Average Out
I remember crying during lunch my senior year —
my math teacher's eyebrows colliding,
one plane folding into a fractal.
He had sat there, nearly four years,
watching me struggle through an unreal number of numbers —
literally and figuratively —
while again and again the test scores whispered:
You
are less
than average.
But behind the eyes of a determined man
my insecurities never won.
He refused to believe the numbers.
He was searching for some unspoken meaning —
and so was I.
I almost found it the day of graduation.
I almost found it between his eyebrows,
creased like a point of pride —
because I was the first of my family
to hold something as light as a diploma
instead of a heavy head,
nodding under the weight of ******
The first to feel like a feather
instead of a six-pack,
a bad back,
the slow grind of manual labor.
I was flying.
Then college tried to land me.
Again I let an institution measure me.
Test scores trying to tell me what I was worth —
intelligence reduced to something
too narrow to understand its own diversity.
Less than average, they said.
But I wasn't below the line —
I was just outside it.
An individual
above their point of comparison.
I could read a room like a text.
I could build connection out of nothing.
I could debate, move, make people feel something.
Gold doesn't average out either.
So I learned —
it wasn't the diploma I should have chased.
Not the thing I'd wave at my little brothers and sisters
to show them how to live better,
burn brighter,
burn longer.
Here I am.
Red-faced and unafraid.
Spoken word was always there —
hiding between the creases of my teacher's brow,
folded into the question I didn't know I was asking.
The answer was never in his book.
It was in his look.
In his refusal to quit on me.
I could have found it sooner
if I'd known what I was searching for.
I
am
not
stupid.
I haven't failed by choosing something
the institution doesn't recognize.
I am not defined by a score,
a line,
a rule,
a rhyme.
I don't average out —
and that is not a weakness.
Power isn't in a piece of paper.
Power is in your words.
In your chosen behavior.
In the silence you finally break.
The answer was never in his textbook —
it was in his persistence.
In the way he looked at me
like the numbers were wrong.
He just didn't have the words to say it.
But I do.
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 2:16 PM UTC
Papers, Papers, Papers
Whiter than aching teeth,
Whiter than whites of tilted eyes,
Whiter than funeral wreaths.
My hands shake as I write this,
Filed away myths; Stolen lined sheets
My index finger chained by red tapes,
words mix and ground breaks,
I'm the one the world forsakes
Yellow maize, littered leaves,
all twisted into
black ink and clean sharp white paper blades.
-------"I am in a bit of daze," I tell myself, "look at those flaccid bits;
there lay the logs who use to be the jungle of my childhood dreams."
------"Don't be amazed," I replied, "these leafless branches and twigs are for
your Papier-Mâché degrees."
So I listen to my second self once,
the more logical cynical satirical one,
Treading on the plot of their paper works,
playing crosswords as anxiety uncork
my thoughts turn to the bankable orcs,
just as my career forks
Maybe I should be like my mother,
Marking numbers on a deck of cards-- waltzing with Chance.
Maybe I should be like my father,
Toiling for some rich men's grandson-- seething in Trance.
Maybe I should be like the Other,
Going along with the system-- thanking myself
beneath a cap, a diploma, a piece of paper.
I wore these books like bank notes tuxedoes,
I was promised the world by the credits I borrowed.
Must I go along with the mechanism of their game,
or should I rise up against all odds
Opposing, debating, rebelling against
this bundle, this trouble, funneling me into no-tomorrows
Or must I write it all down,
in my prayers against their lawyers, who need no reminds
Or must I shred, smear, and tear the papers with my own bare hands
But what will I ever be to them, friends?
A papercut, perhaps.
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 9:33 PM UTC
last week i told you that the inevitability of the end was near
you couldn't stop it
i am a patch of black ice and you are a semi
but we refuse to let go,
refuse to throw out what we have
just because we're young and stupid
and you can't fall in love until you have a college diploma on the office wall
and a mortgage to pay
a hundred thousand regrets
and a lost love who you gave up on
simply because you didn't believe in the resilience of young love
we fell in love in spring,
and there's something to say about the innocence of that first love
unparalleled spontaneity and discovery
that will never be duplicated
so why would you throw it away?
your forever is shorter than mine,
so i'll never promise forever
all i can promise you
is now
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 12:14 AM UTC
Dear Pickle,
You are making my face sour. Mom is mad at you for skipping school and I have to talk her down again.
Maybe next time you can write me a 1200 word essay on "How stupid your decisions are", So I can mark it up with red pen before you lose grades on your ribs.
Sister, you need to calm your *** down, because the world isn't a race and the underdog doesn't always come in first, or even second.
But take a second to stop breathing that smoke you call air, everybody is choking on the smell of teen-spirit.
The tattoos not yet ingaved in your skin will serve as a reminder of how you took last place in a family full of sharp broken pieces of glass.
I tell Mom "Don't worry, it's just a phase, she just needs a second to find her place, in this world" But, at this rate, I'm not sure you will.
Because, people will knock on your door and hand you bottles of quick fixes and Novocaine, and I hope that this poem isn't in vain to serve as a reminder of that little girl that still caught fireflies in her teeth.
And I am sorry I left for 3 years without watching your molecules multiply, but I wrote my times tables on the back of my diploma for you to study.
That 6 year old girl with woodland creature cheeks hasn't been forgotten.
That 6 year old girl who never failed to puke in the car after a glass of milk hasn't been forgotten.
That 6 year old girl that cried every time we told anyone you are cat food under the kitchen table hasn't been forgotten.
I am sorry, can you bring her back now?
And for me, could you stop making Mom cry, she has watered so many Forget-me-nots that I am afraid her roots are drowning.
Don't get me wrong. I appreciate all the time you bared swords and shields to defend me against the stereotypes that threatened to staple them themselves to the inside of our cheeks, but come on...get your **** together.
We are blood-brothers...with vaginas.
Don't you dare break that bond because if you do I will lock you in the closet, turn the lights of and leave you in there screaming and crying until the rebellion leaves your bladder.
I'm your sister, not your mother. I will not birth any more brother screw-ups for you to father.
Love,
Vinegar.
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 2:39 PM UTC
People kept telling her:
"you can't be this, you can't be that"
the girl pretended to listen, their words a blur
she sat there unnoticed, her face flat.
She went to school
receiving an education
she let her parents rule
keeping silent, hiding her creation.
When the nights closed in
and her parents went to sleep
she took out a notebook with a grin;
after all it wasn't theirs to keep.
She bled out words
that had stuck on her skin
outside chirped nice birds
unlike the crows she hid within.
Soon her graduation came
as she held her diploma in hand
she heard her own name
with it came the feared demand.
"You'll become a lawyer like us, right?"
the girl whirled around to see
her mum and dad standing up to their full height
she bit her lip, only wanting to be free.
"No," she told them, "I will not!"
she looked her parents straight in the eye
looking like they'd both been shot
but the girl didn't want to lie.
"I'll become a writer,"
she told them, with a light smile
her parents did not turn brighter
but that hadn't ever been their style.
Jul 8, 2017
Jul 8, 2017 at 9:40 AM UTC
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Degree
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Education
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Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 10:36 PM UTC
The mirror reveals a face naked and bleak,
the sweatpants have holes and the T-shirt is frayed.
It'll be over in a couple of weeks.
The hours spent escaping to Twitter speak
to the test on the floor with a failing grade.
The mirror reveals a face naked and bleak.
The tissue rips across my salty cheek
while my transcript laughs at the mess that I've made.
It'll be over in a couple of weeks.
I'll go to class tired and return home weak;
won't even bother with the "good girl" charade.
The mirror reveals a face naked and bleak.
"It's fine, Dad. My predicament's not unique.
I'll get my diploma, and all this will fade.
It'll be over in a couple of weeks."
Yet perhaps this last piece of paper I seek
will only frame the path from which I've strayed.
The mirror reveals a face naked and bleak;
It'll be over in a couple of weeks.
May 20, 2015
May 20, 2015 at 2:39 PM UTC
At 6 she wanted to be a ballerina
At 8 she wanted to be a veterinarian
At 10 she wanted to be a teacher
At 13 she wanted to be pretty
At 16 she wanted to be dead
But..
At 18 she graduates high school
At 20 she studies for her final
At 22 she gets her diploma
At 24 she finds her career
At 26 she whispers "I do"
At 28 she holds her new born child
At 30 she wipes her tears and says
"I made it"
Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 12:55 PM UTC
Madilim na sulok kung san nagdurugo ang mga palad
Na alala ko pa no'y si Inang ingat na ingat
Mga lamok na dumadapo di ligtas sa kanyang paglilitis
Na di ko na maalala itsura kung anong ipis
Ngunit sa loob ng maliit na kwadro
Sapat ang isang upua't mesa at isang kabayo
Sabit pati ang yabang kong diploma sa taas ng orocan
Lukot na resumé sa aking harapan nagmuka nang basahan
Mas tanggap pa sa trabahong pamunas ng puwitan
Ngunit mas higit pa ba ang munting papel kung nasaan aking larawan?
Bakas ng ilang buwang puyat at thesis na pinaghirapan
Bakit ako tatanggap ng trabahong mababa pa sa aking kakayahan
O maging alila sa mga sinliit rin nila ang pinag-aralan?
Kahapon itlog at pancit canton,
Dala ni nanay noon pang huling dalaw sa aking kahon
Isang buwan nang matapos na ako
Inakalang ito na ang hudyat ng aking pag ahon
Totoong mundong ganito pala ang paghamak at paghamon
Di maatim ng sikmura sila'y yumayabong
Taga UP ako, isang iskolar ng bayang nais maglingkod sa bayan
Taas ng pinag-aralan ko, kung sa ibang bansa, sahod lang ng bayaran?
Inyo na ang thirteenth month pay ninyong tinamuran!
Jul 8, 2016
Jul 8, 2016 at 11:24 AM UTC
I watched as you took you took your first step,
I watched as you stepped up to your first day of school.
I watched as you stepped up to bat
I watched as stepped up to being a teen
I watched as you took a step to your first date
I watched as you stepped up to receive your diploma
I watched as you took a step out of my house
I watched as you stepped up to adulthood
I watched as you took a step down the aisle
I watched as you took a step to hold your first child
And now from my bed, I see you step up close to me
as I take my last step to sleep.
I have watched you take your first step,
and now this one will be my last.
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 6:12 PM UTC
Do you really
Blowing smoke into my face
In my pocket a razor blade
I run my finger against it
Pick anything
Anything you want
Cough Syrup
Cigarettes
Liquor
As if you weren't white trash enough
Walk in
You are calm and no one cares
Pick anything
Anything and walk out
You own it
Some lie to themselves
Pseudophilisophical teenage masturbations
As if shoving a couple cold beers into your boxer shorts
And downing a bottle of robo in the toy section of wal-mart
*yeah bro, youv'e totally thrown a wrench into the gears of the corporate machine while we drink these cold cans of beer that were pressed against your *****
Marijuana
I wish I was alive for once
Then I wouldn't waste my time typing poems on my cellphone
While you finger your girlfriend on the couch
Sleeping on the floor is great for a while
You appreciate a safe place to sleep
Something different than the bus seats and train stations
I wish the universe didn't
Whose idea was this whole life thing anyway
Tomorrow you will wake up
And stealing DVDs from Best Buy will consume the day
I found a little bag of ****
And we are kings
Of a personnel universe
Your girlfriend
Is
eighteen
She still thinks I'm cool
Cause my General Education Diploma
I hate everything in my life
It's all breaking apart
The seams I have carefully sewn
I need to get out of here
I am tired of January
Appreciate each moment
Appreciate each moment
Because the tumor on my brain waits on nobody
I cant overcome the sense of meaninglessness
It's just the comedown
Xanax
Cigarettes 1:12 a.m
1:13 a.m
Follow my noble eightfold path to oblivion
#1 go **** yourself
Jan 5, 2013
Jan 5, 2013 at 1:19 AM UTC
Finding you was the best thing that ever happened to me
You have showed me what it is like to have someone that actually cares about me
You guide me and encourage me to keep going and to succeed
Finding you was like finding a needle in a haystack
I don't know how to explain the way I feel about you
It is like something that I have never felt before
I can't stop smiling when I'm around you
You make me feel so comfortable when I'm around you
It's like I don't even have to try around you
I can be myself around you 100% and I have never felt that before
You make me laugh and smile
You make me happy and forget about my anxiety for a little bit
You talk me out of all my problems and tell me to take things day by day
You are there for me when I'm struggling and need someone to vent to
Finding you has changed my life for the best
Finding you has bettered me
I don't know what I would do without you in my life
Yes, things are complicated right now
But, everything comes so much easier when you are there
You make me see the good in myself
You keep me focused on my education
Finding you has kept me determined to get my teaching degree
I can't wait to graduate college and see you sitting there in the audience watching me walk across stage accepting my diploma
Finding you has made me who I am
Sep 7, 2015
Sep 7, 2015 at 7:10 PM UTC
If you're a writer your main trade is hating yourself and
finding ways to be clever about it.
Smoke cigar and coffee-stained typewriters,
bachelor in the sixties, suicide in the seventies.
I'm just a cliché, raining cats and dogs, beating dead horses and singing
a little song about death
a little song about love
there is nothing new under the sun.
Dylan doesn't understand what you do is better than
accounting, your trade is people
like stock markets-
string them up and watch them fall
I play with hearts, you say like
a girl showing off her somersaults in the backyard.
But no one is listening.
…
…
…
So you burn your eyes out with hot wax in the living room
and swear
your name is Icarus
throw your diploma into the laundry and watch it turn into tissue paper,
taking moonlight walks down the beach and
straight into the bottom
of the ocean.
(you thought she would hit you
when you told her you wanted to write
but she only laughed...
and you were surprised
how much
it hurt.)
Your father's pride, a phone full of contacts,
seeing straight in the ******* morning and the heart
of a girl that was once foolish
enough to love nitroglycerine,
sold for
a bottle of ink and a scrap of paper
and your name in the
obituaries.
...
...
...
Tell yourself it was worth it.
Jan 19, 2019
Jan 19, 2019 at 1:44 AM UTC
we learn to speak,
we learn to write,
we learn to count,
that's education.
but everything changes in high school,
education is slowly losing it's true meaning,
we compete for high marks,
we compete for good grades,
just to overcome the fear of getting into 'bad' colleges and universities.
we learn something without knowing the purpose,
we memorize facts without understanding,
that's education of modern world.
it had made it such that,
people are judged on their level of education,
Diploma, Degree, Masters, PhD,
important certificates just to get recognition from the society.
so think about it,
are we really educated or are we just a person,
who everyone calls 'nerd'.
Aug 31, 2014
Aug 31, 2014 at 6:30 AM UTC
Write about being seen, really being seen.
(Remember to go with your "first flash," and write for 10 minutes without stopping or thinking.)
I was so humiliated. Besides feeling humiliated, I felt like I was on display. Each step I took down the hallway, every person in every little group glared at me, glanced away, and the whispers were buzzing. I felt it unjust, but I knew I brought it on myself. I cannot say I felt betrayal, as I was the original betrayer, (well, he was, but our emotional volley had collapsed with the weight of my action) but I hated him for savoring the revenge of my ruined reputation. I knew the pain I bestowed on him wouldn’t go away, but his smug satisfaction of broadcasting my shame only added to my humiliation.
When is graduation? Exactly two months away. That was April first, and I would have my high school diploma June 1st. I was a survivor, for my whole life, and although it was awful, I knew I could get past it. Still, every step I took in the hallway following that dreaded day, every move I made, every word I spoke, every breath I exhaled– was noticed, and I was judged without given the opportunity to provide an explanation of my perspective. High school rumors were ruthless, but what was worse is when it wasn’t a rumor. It was a scandal.
Even though no one dared to ask about it, to obtain information from me, I knew they all knew. Everyone knew, and once the basic information was known, details were not important. I wondered how many other girls experienced what I was experiencing, having to hold their head high and act proud despite the shame. It was strengthening, inadvertently, but the only other option was to hide away and avoid everyone. Even with a reputation, I couldn’t do that. Peers whispered and laughed degrading words, female faculty cast judgmental stares and all male teachers avoided eye contact, to avoid any association with me.
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 7:00 AM UTC
throwing papers
up in the air
everywhere
wonderful bliss
4 years for this
I miss you now
we talked about how
this would be us
kissing
throwing it up
not giving a ****
i don't give a ****
i really don't
graduating next week
and i pretend to be sad to go
it really doesn't matter
ill walk and ill bow
ill get my diploma
i really don't know how....
I got the papers from the recycling bin
it says a lot doesn't it
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 3:20 AM UTC
There is no shame, in moving back with your parents.
To them you still smell of diapers and the time you puked jelly beans all over the back of the car after you tilt-a-whirled your “I’m a big girl” attitude into giggles.
Around them you still clumsily tip over you own puberty when they ask you to clean your room.
You’re still in college. And that diploma on your wall is still less of an accomplishment, than when you suddenly discovered your thumbs.
So, how do you cope with the baby talk condescension scribbled over directions to empty a dishwasher properly?
1) Realize this is just temporary. You have till you’re at least 40 to fix this.
2) Clean your room of all the embarrassing childish evidence (i.e. N’Synch Posters, Pokemon Cards, Ect) . When CSI comes in they will just assume you were visiting.
3) Take long, long walks far, far away from your residence. Preferably the woods, so you may not run into any high school nemeses.
4) Pray you can get laid by someone, your age. Preferably someone you have not had any prepubescent encounters with already.
5) Eat all the free food you can.
With theses steps you can safely avoid pulling out your own fingernails with the self-loathing hiding under your bed.
Do not let it fill your Pog champion hands with delusions that you have failed to tie your own shoes, let alone pay your own taxes or get married.
Might as well give up those big girl pants and open lid cups and go back to Sesame Street and ******** in your own pants.
This…
Is only temporary.
You must say.
A temporary walk through the woods. Praying to lay down relax, and enjoy the air you are still eating.
This is only temporary.
Jan 21, 2013
Jan 21, 2013 at 11:14 PM UTC
Were you alive when the
bricks began to crumble
beneath our hand-held, picket line
across the parking lot in front of some
school that no one bothered to name?
Our exhaustion-mumbled whispers
skipping across lips dropping to the street
that tapered ladders on gargantuan gadflies as the summer heat
etched the tear lines into mud tracks against
our ruddied faces.
Cohorts torn into flip stands
layered toward standing political sores --
tell me how to cross my t’s and fill in scantron circles before
the suits step over brown-bag lunches
to stretch the yawning yellow tape over the students’ lockers.
We were strung up the flag pole, almost posted as decapitated heads for the public.
The political analysts call this “The biggest school closing in decades.”
Under teeming hammer-strikes :
glasses shred to paper-splinters
before a young boy’s diploma
crying white chalk bricks
from university’s doors instead on to
prison yard orange jumpsuits.
Can we call this a school improvement project
or can we call this the Same Salem Witch Hunt
As unwashed teachers and students alike deck the sidewalks like
Either Christmas decorations on Michigan Avenue or
Inmates on the gallows platform
I’m completely unable to read the television marquee that told the neighborhood that City Hall was too stuffed with paperwork to defend the mothers and invisible fathers.
I’m completely unable to write out of respect for these children’s already-carved in stone pathway to the gutter, graveyard, and/or prisons.
In the first wink of dawn
We will all scatter
To our respective positions
Carved out in concrete before the
barricades fall
to flood the street.
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 3:52 AM UTC
We wanted to confess our sins but there were no takers.
White clouds refused to accept them, and the wind
Was too busy visiting sea after sea.
We did not succeed in interesting the animals.
Dogs, disappointed, expected an order,
A cat, as always immoral, was falling asleep.
A person seemingly very close
Did not care to hear of things long past.
Conversations with friends over ***** or coffee
Ought not be prolonged beyond the first sign of boredom.
It would be humiliating to pay by the hour
A man with a diploma, just for listening.
Churches. Perhaps churches. But to confess there what?
That we used to see ourselves as handsome and noble
Yet later in our place an ugly toad
Half-opens its thick eyelid
And one sees clearly: "That's me."
2.1k
Her baby walks
She looks on proudly
One foot then the other
Step by step
Across the stage
His eyes find hers
Arms thrown high in victory
Diploma in hand
“Mommy look at me”
Her baby walks
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 6:27 PM UTC
We've done it
We've did it
It's concurred and done
We've been at it since two thousand and one
The Class of 2014 is what we are
And boy have we gotten far
We are the generation that expierienced things none other has
From 9-11 to those new Internet fads
We are turning our tassel
It took a thirteen year haul of hassle
But as we stand
Diploma in our hand
We know it was worth it
We are the Class of 2014
And we did one heck of a job
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 9:28 PM UTC
On my graduation day,
I ripped down all the flimsy paper signs
hanging from the ceiling,
like Judd Nelson does on The Breakfast Club.
I just wanted to be that cool.
I also poured glitter into the water fountains
so it could reflect off the drinkers eyes,
as a reminder that even when you leave here
you can still shine.
I put my lock on backwards
so it would be a ***** for faculty to take off
my locker when I was gone.
I turned in my cap and gown inside out,
and wrote
"see you then"
on the tag right next to the size,
hoping someone might laugh when they read it
or think it was written by someone real wise
when really it was some moon-eyed girl who heard it
from a friend she knew long ago.
I did a donut in the parking lot
with my beat up Cherokee
who had been down all the back roads
too many nights in a row,
just because I wanted to.
I didn't wear underwear to the ceremony,
because it made me feel free
like I was finally going to be.
I also sketched every dream I had
on pieces of loose leaf
and threw them in random places throughout the school,
praying someone would find them
and maybe have them too.
I almost punched you,
for all the times I should have back in middle school
but I didn't want the principal to ask
why there was blood on my hands
when they handed me that fake diploma
that wouldn't really come in the mail
for weeks.
It was just a day to congratulate
all the **** you got away with as a kid,
and to remind you those days are over
it gets real
from this point on-
how comforting.
I left the stage with my tongue out,
hands raised saying goodbye
here I go
thanks for teaching me all the stuff,
I never really wanted to know.
And by the way,
I put 20 goldfish in the girl's lavatory toilets
so even when I left
there'd be something hard to get rid of
something you'd never forget-
like me
when I was gone.
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 2:07 PM UTC
Ok, there’s no jailbreak.
Make room for my innocent alter ego,
because there’s nothing to rebel against.
There are zero classes in my nascent,
year-long, Harvard master’s degree.
They call it ‘self directed study’
and like rockets have stages,
I’ll have ‘self paced modules.’
Am I suddenly at Oxford University?
They’re quite famous for that (no formal classes).
Or am I suddenly grown up and trusted?
I obviously don’t have it all figured out yet,
so I’ll just trust the process.
When I started that other school
(that shall not be named), my advisor
handed me a computer printout - a list
with something like 40 courses on it.
I thought, “Oh, my God,” but one by one,
year over year, I checked-off those courses
and voila! They handed me a diploma.
It was a process.
I understand, if you’re disappointed about the jailbreak, but there’ll
be coffee breaks, lunch breaks, study breaks, bathroom breaks
and more than a few self-directed dance breaks. So stick around.
“You know,” my therapist said, so very seriously, a few years ago,
“you keep laughing.”
.
.
I've Got the World on a String by Robin McKelle
****** Soul Picnic by Ledisi & Billy Childs
May 29, 2025
May 29, 2025 at 10:47 PM UTC